Tuesday, March 6, 2007

In Paradisum

You may not know Rob, or his blog, How About Two. Or maybe you do know him, and have followed the stories of his wife's pregnancy with twins, and his efforts to prepare himself for fatherhood. But whether you already know him, or don't yet know him, you should know this: he's one of us, a parent who is embracing parenthood with his words. And he, and his wife, his family, have just suffered a devastating loss.

And tell Rob thank you for sharing his child's life and death. For sharing his story, and his grief. Say thank you, because his words remind you to be so, so grateful for the children that you carry in your arms. And because the fullness of love that surrounds Rob's son's life and death - so beautifully shared with all of us - remind you that true love lives always, eternally, in the heart.

I found you through Rob's site, and what a thrill that was in such a sad time -- to see so many people speeding their best wishes his way and many coming from the same place ... here. If there's any good to come of this, I hope it's one more stranger who has the chance to look into the lives of others and find something special. Sometimes I really love the blogosphere.

After days of sleep-frustrations, thank you for reminding us what is all important. I've just gone and picked up/woken my sleeping preemie, born at 3 lbs 12 oz who spent her own time in the NICU for a cuddle. I'm so very lucky to have her when others are grieving, something that in the depths of frustrations can be easy to forget.

Little Doss will not be forgotten. His father's beautiful testament to his life, and others such as yours will ensure that.

HBM, thank you for this post. I lost one of my twins as well, so I felt an immediate connection to the Barrons. I'm grateful to you for giving me the opportunity to reach out to them in a small way, as a voice from seven-and-a-half years out saying "he will always be with you, but the pain won't always feel the way it does right now." I don't know if it was helpful for them to hear it, but I do know that it was helpful to me to say it. So thanks.

I simply cannot imagine that feeling, that loss. I hope they feel the comfort of their friends and their family, both near and far, and the comfort of their son's spirit, and that, of course, of their beautiful daughter, her soft skin and bright eyes.

I feel very fortunate, even in hard times. Thank you for helping me get my footing in a way. I even feel guilty saying that. I don't want to let someone else's tragedy cause a glimmer in my eye, knowing that my three healthy children are going to be okay ... but how can you not appreciate what you have when you consider what could be lost?